


The Hardest Button to Button

by changbinglish



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: ALTERNATIVELY, Anal Sex, Bandcamp ChangBang, Changbin is loud, Chan’s stamina meets a formidable match, For the sole purpose of getting off, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sometimes you compile an audio file of your homie whining and moaning, SoundCloud Binstopher, Under the guise of Ad Libs, You know just producer things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 05:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21131795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/changbinglish/pseuds/changbinglish
Summary: Changbin’s still towing the line between shy, coquettish boy and confident, irresistible man, just like he always has. Chan loves and hates it. He loves hearing Changbin whine. It’s a sound he’s addicted to, and he hates that he’ll break his own body ten times over to hear it.For now, he'll just ask nicely."What do you want me to do?"





	The Hardest Button to Button

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed to crank out a smutty oneshot before I write the Sex Chapter for Hymn. Consider this a practice run (Hymn itself is a practice run for chaptered fic I guess?) I’m @changbinglish on Twitter and Curious Cat! Come talk to me

There are two warm bodies in the studio right now. This studio is composed of the following: a long desk for Chan’s beloved Frankenstein of a DAW setup, pushed up against another desk with a condenser microphone set precariously on some shoeboxes because he recently broke the arm for it, cords snaking around in tangled braids, each labeled with different colored tape. Besides Chan, the other (slightly less) warm body is Changbin, waiting for recording to start.

Chan adjusts the pop filter to accommodate Changbin’s height. While he does this he mentally screams at himself not to look at the other boy’s mouth, not even for a second. What’s the point in restraint, though, if he’s already memorized its exact shade of pink in any given lighting? The shapes formed by his lips when he’s laughing, rapping, eating, when they’re pursed as he considers which words will sound best in cooperation with Chan’s own arrangements?

“Why are you lowering it so much? Am I really that short, hyung?” Changbin pouts. Chan realizes that he overshot the position of his mouth because he was avoiding it, and mutters out a quick “sorry” before fiddling with the filter again. He can hear Changbin scoff playfully and it beckons color to his ears.

And then Changbin does several things that make it harder, “it” being the process of checking Changbin’s gain levels and reverb as he warms up into the mic. The rapper blasts through some ad libs, rehearses some rhymes, does his dumb “yoh” shit and concludes by biting his lower lip in amusement. He crosses his arms, biceps and chest tensing. Chan tries to focus on the sliders on his screen, but Changbin existing so beautifully makes it harder. “It” is also Chan’s dick.

At first, when they met, he appreciated Changbin in a strictly auditory sense. His aptitude for rap was what drew him in, just like anyone else who made his acquaintance. Then he went and revealed his vocal control, his more-than-just-decent pitch, and maybe that’s when Chan saw that he was truly special, and so began their collaboration and friendship.

Don’t get it twisted, though, Chan is still impressed by his ever-improving skill. He’s just been harboring a secret admiration for Changbin’s visual virtues, too. Blame it on spending too much time writing and producing together, too much time in the cramped DIY music nest of his bedroom. It’s given him plenty of opportunities to notice how much Changbin has to offer by way of arms and jawline. Chan’s a sucker for them.

Also, maybe Changbin is actually a soft sweetheart masquerading as a "dark rapper” or comic shithead. That might be another contributor to whatever feelings Chan has, but who knows? Maybe it’s also that with each day, with each joint workout, he fears and hopes that Changbin will surpass him in musculature.

Today 3racha is missing their youngest member, who is currently on a trip with his family, but of course Jisung couldn’t leave before securing his verse in their new track. Changbin couldn’t make it that day, so he’s here now, and the atmosphere is always slightly different when it’s just the two of them in the studio. Too intimate. Or maybe that’s just in Chan's head. He loves and hates it. If it’s not Jisung and Changbin’s relentless goof-offs distracting from Chan’s work, it’s Changbin’s mouth, it’s his arms, it’s the unintentionally sensual sounds he makes that seem to touch Chan in places they shouldn’t.

But here they are, and Chan is clenching the muscles in his thighs to redirect blood flow.

Sitting up in his chair, he clears his throat. “Okay, Runner’s High, SpearB verse 1, take 1.”

The metronome ticks four times and welcomes the hook that Chan’s heard a thousand times already. Because he made it and tinkered with it in ways barely noticeable to the untrained ear, but Changbin wastes no time jumping straight in, a dozen syllables per second. This is their favorite part of making music. The monitor agrees. Riding sound waves unique only to them. Both boys bob their heads to the beat.

They do three and a half more takes. Chan requests for him to try a different delivery on a line he deems crucial, then they take their headphones off for a break. Chan gets up and Changbin takes his place, throws himself into the producer’s chair with a cheeky “thanks for keeping it warm.” He makes sure to save the Cubase project file because sometimes Chan forgets to do it, then opens the folder with all their unused recordings.

“Can I go through the ad libs folder? I wanna hear how stupid Jisung sounds. Not because I miss him or anything.”

“Yeah, sure, we recorded some more the other day.” Chan's already out the door halfway through his sentence to get some more water from the kitchen. He returns with two glasses, and sets them on the side table away from the equipment. Changbin is playing random soundbites from previous sessions, huffing out small laughs every now and then. Chan sits and checks his phone for new comments on 3racha's pages, when Changbin speaks up.

“What’s this?” Followed by a double click, and after the first two drawn-out clips of Changbin groaning "_ohh_," Chan knows exactly what it is, and his whole being is sent into fight-or-flight.

Chan rarely deletes anything they record. He's kept every giggle, stutter, hiccup, voice crack, and any number of unflattering noise that the three have made in the studio. But this time he's forgotten to delete something particularly damning from his archive. He even neglected to hide the file well enough from his fellow musician and current fixation. It's too late now.

The speakers air out his shame in a compilation of Changbin making pretty _vulnerable_-sounding noises, one after another, comprising a minute-long audio file called "SpearB_mmm.FLAC" or something like that, Chan can't remember exactly. It's almost ridiculous how often Changbin lets out a moan or whimper, though most of them are while he's joking, pretending to complain, acting bratty, etcetera. But the way it's framed here makes him sound downright pornographic.

Chan's panicking. Why did he keep it in the fucking ad libs folder? Better yet, why did he make it in the first place? Were the nuts he’s busted while listening really worth it?

“Why is it all in one file? Are you gonna use it for something?”

The worst part is that Changbin is genuinely curious, and he’s never been a judgmental person, and Chan is the world’s shittiest liar. He’s grasping at straws trying to fabricate a reason for having the file. All he draws are blanks.

He considers the worst case scenario of just coming clean, if he perhaps just said, "hey, so the most effective method for me to achieve orgasm is by listening to you moan, which I’ve recorded and edited without your knowing. Like a sexual remix of sorts. I apologize if that makes you uncomfortable or hate me, it's just stupidly easy to get off to your voice." But he’s already waited too long to answer him.

Changbin asks another question, this time slower, apprehensive.

"Why do I sound so... like a little bitch?"

Chan forces a huge sigh through his lips. The recording has stopped playing, and thank God it doesn't loop.

“Um, okay. So, I think I'm just gonna be honest. And I'm really sorry if this is weird of me. Fuck, it is weird." He mutters the last part with a hand over his eyes and pauses to let his brain buffer. Changbin still looks confused.

"I, uh, really like how you sound when you whine like that." To an audience, it would look like he’s speaking to the floor. “A lot.”

They blink.

"For a track?"

"No, not just for tracks. I..." Chan cannot put together any words, in Korean or English, that will make even a little bit of sense. “It just, it’s nice to listen to?”

By this point, Changbin's face is slowly transitioning into something else. Something, possibly, other than disgust.

"Really? You like how I sound?"

And now he's biting his lip in a sort of shy but very alluring manner and Chan can’t look away.

“Uh, yeah. It’s really. Hot.” His face scrunches up at his own confession, at his stupidity.

“When I do that, I’m trying to be annoying.” Changbin exhales through his nose and looks off to the side. “But you like it.”

He’s smirking and it makes feel Chan feel so pathetic and _painfully_ turned on. But Changbin’s smugness isn’t entirely based in confidence. He knows this much. As strong a presence Changbin has when he’s performing, there’s a fragility to him that comes out when nobody’s around. The shorter boy scoots closer to Chan in his rolling chair, like a turtle crawling.

“Do you... get off to it?” The tips of his ears are starting to redden. Chan’s have already gone full pink, especially now that Changbin’s looking up at him through the black fringe of his hair, eyes a mix of coy and embarrassed.

Chan doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stares with his mouth open.

“Hyung. That’s so gross.” Changbin snickers and stands up. “You weirdo.”

He approaches Chan and hovers a hand over his shoulder, hesitates before resting it there, thumb on his collarbone.

"You want me to make those sounds for you?"

Throat dry of dignity, Chan swallows. His voice breaks, "Now?"

“I kind of want to make them for you. You’re pretty sexy, you know that?” Changbin is holding back laughter, but it’s directed more at this situation than Chan himself. He gets bolder and brings up his other hand to Chan’s shoulder. “When you’re not being a big idiot.”

Changbin’s still towing the line between shy, coquettish boy and confident, irresistible man, just like he always has. Chan loves and hates it. He loves hearing Changbin whine. It’s a sound he’s addicted to, and he hates that he’ll break his own body ten times over to hear it.

For now, he'll just ask nicely.

"What do you want me to do?"

They're dizzyingly close now and Chan flashes back to his high school prom date with the way Changbin drapes his arms around his neck, like they're about to slow dance. He's very clearly staring at Chan's mouth, then looks him in the eye.

"Kiss me? Maybe more if you're good at it."

That answer stirs his dick something fierce, so Chan grips his waist to pull him in. Changbin yelps, making yet another sound that shouldn't sound so good but it does (maybe because this time, it was Chan bringing it out of him), and it's quickly diffused into a little moan as they kiss, slowly.

Their lips make minimal movement, like Chan is still not sure if Changbin is serious about this or not. As if responding to his mental inquiry, Changbin tilts his head just a degree more to kiss him with more feeling, and Chan reciprocates it, tastes a little bit of the cola they’d had with lunch earlier that day.

Changbin pulls away just barely to giggle again. “Wow. I think I’ve wanted that even more than I thought.”

Chan thinks he hears angels sing, but it’s just the blood evacuating his head. They kiss again, more naturally now. Changbin’s hands migrate up to his neck, fingers scaling his veins before they take hold in his hair. Chan can’t help but moan into his mouth, the touch firing up all his senses.

Changbin’s tongue feels small against his own, and there’s no resistance when Chan wants more from his mouth. The smack of their lips when they both pull apart reverberates in Chan's head. He makes a request without thinking.

“Can I suck you off?”

Changbin gawks but somehow brings their bodies even closer together, so Chan can hear him whisper: “only if I can feel you inside me afterwards.”

“_Fuck_.”

They both know neither of them are strangers to sex, but this is definitely new territory for the two of them. Fucking a bandmate in their bedroom-shaped recording studio. Now that Chan thinks about it, Changbin had to have noticed his affinity for his sounds and sights, right? Why was he so convinced that it was impossible for things to come to this?

Chan awkwardly maneuvers to lay Changbin on his mattress. Their kissing gets momentarily sloppy while he adjusts himself over Changbin’s body, knees and hands framing him. He buckles at the feeling of Changbin’s hands pulling at his shirt, one of them slipping under to trace his abs. He catches Changbin trying to get a glimpse of the rare skin underneath black cotton. Somewhere in the back of Chan’s mind, a switch is flipped, and he wants to give him a show. As compensation. To make up for the fact that he gathered Changbin’s voice in one obscene clip behind his back. In a single motion, Chan sits back on his heels and removes his shirt.

Changbin sucks in air through his teeth. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

At that, Chan laughs with his dimples out. “Right back at you.”

Both of them, to their relief, are equally impatient to be naked. Changbin sucks on his lower lip while splaying his fingers on the generous "V" outlining Chan's hips.

“Fuck. Wait. Hold up.” Chan pushes himself up to grab his wallet from his desk, pull out a condom, and fish out his bottle of lube from a drawer. When he returns to the bed Changbin is wriggling out of his own jeans, shirt already on the floor. Chan notices he had folded it in half to minimize wrinkles.

The too-quick pacing of everything seems to catch up to Changbin, and he becomes shy again now that he’s only wearing his underwear and chain necklace. But Chan looks at him like he’s a new instrument, like the refurbished MIDI device he got a few months ago, with more than two thousand unique instruments in its soundbank. He’s eager to push the buttons, test each sound, eager to hear Changbin make them all.

Lips pouting just a little, Changbin attempts to disregard how vulnerable he feels under Chan’s gaze. His eyes almost shut as he starts kissing at Changbin’s jaw. Chan’s breath makes his skin simultaneously hot and cool. He smooths his hands up Chan’s arms, the touches laced with admiration. There’s no shortage of want between them.

“Jesus, hyung. You’re so pale.”

Chan knows he means it as a compliment, or something. It’s his way of not surrendering to Chan’s ego, but there’s still plenty of time for them to reach that point.

With more grace than he intends, he starts out nibbling at the skin of Changbin’s neck, passion gradually rising until he’s sucking at the juncture of his shoulder, bruising ensured. In return, Changbin lets out some whimpers, tiny at first, punctuated by his fingers playing with Chan’s hair. And they crescendo when Chan’s strong hand strokes down his chest, teasing his nipples just enough to coax something higher out of him. He presses into the soft of Changbin's tummy, a surprising but absolutely welcome contrast to the bulk of arms. It's one of those unbearably cute parts of what is otherwise masculinity perfected.

Chan’s mouth dutifully follows the path blazed by his hands down Changbin’s torso. He's kissing right above his belly button as his fingers catch into his waistband one by one. The leisurely pace is taking a toll on Changbin, evident in his short groans which sound so satisfying to Chan.

Then he pulls his boxer briefs off, clean and swift. Changbin's cock is average-sized but girthy and fits well in Chan's hand. He pumps once for a sharp gasp, twice for a longer, more sensual moan of "_oh_," while his other hand is clenched around Changbin’s hip for stability. Stares at the slick tip of his dick and licks his lips unconsciously.

He teases the head with his tongue and swipes at the slit. When he feels Changbin twitch in his hand, he wraps his lips around the tip and alternates between sucking and kissing, going deeper each time. Drinks in the delicious whine of his name that he's been craving for so long.

Changbin clutches his hair with heart-breaking gentleness. But Chan wants to feel him pull. So he hollows his cheeks and takes him all in until he feels a prod to the back of his palate. It forces a loud fucking groan out of Changbin, followed by breathy whimpers as Chan bobs up and down with admirable resolve.

At one point he comes up real slow on Changbin’s cock, makes eye contact with him before gently letting it fall out of his mouth, and it flops against his belly. Before the smaller boy can complain, Chan swallows it back up and hums. Changbin arches vigorously and finally tightens his grip on Chan’s hair, which he rewards with more electric hums around his cock.

“Chan-hyung, fuck, your mouth…” Changbin’s chest heaves with each word and Chan knows. “So good.”

It’s when he’s using one hand to massage his balls that he feels the telltale soreness in his jaw starting to burden him. It’s good that Changbin’s drawing closer now, evident by his staccato “_ah, ah, ah,_” thighs squeezing lightly around his head.

“Wait, wait, Chan, please. I need to come while you’re fucking me.”

Chan thinks he’s never heard a more beautiful combination of words. He pulls off panting. “You promise to be loud for me?”

Still, Changbin dares to smile at him sheepishly, like he hadn’t just been blowing the Hell out of him. “Promise.”

Chan frantically pats down the space behind him on the bed, feeling for the condom and lube. He grabs hold of a foil packet with Japanese on the label and tears it open. Changbin reaches behind him for the purple bottle-tube of Astroglide and flips it open with a _pop_, squeezes some onto his fingers and warms it up at a pace suggesting he’s done this a hundred times before. And maybe he has. Thinking about it almost makes Chan forget how to put a condom on.

“Holy shit. You’re huge.” Changbin remarks this casually while using his clean hand to position a pillow under his hips, then goes to work swirling two fingers over his hole, his breathing still quick but more evened-out now. Then his finger goes in knuckle-deep, in and out with his head craning forward to watch Chan fist his dick.

Chan exhales through his nose at the sight of Changbin finger-fucking himself, unable to shake the feeling that he should be involved in this step, too. “Can I help?”

Changbin pauses to nod. He spreads his legs and Chan bends down to kiss his thighs, kiss and suck on the skin leading to his entrance. His middle finger glides in a careful circle around the lube-slick muscles, seamlessly joining in his ring finger before pushing one into him. Changbin tenses just a little as Chan doesn’t give him time to adjust to the new intrusion, he’s already searching for his sweet spot—and there it is. Changbin’s moan starts with a closed-mouth “mm” and he jerks up, succumbing to the full-bodied pleasure of Chan’s fingers against his prostate and he feels every flushed part of his skin deepen a shade. Then his mouth hangs open, something more guttural comes out.

Maybe Chan’s done this a hundred times before, too. Because he gives equal attention to the special spot, to holding and kissing Changbin’s thighs as he thrashes in slow motion, to scissoring his fingers open for that warm-burning stretch. He’s always been fair like that. Changbin’s clutching pillows and sheets, teeth digging into his lower lip, head racing at how badly he needs Chan.

His hips buck to create more friction. “Fuck me _now_, please.”

The demand makes Chan growl, in a way that Changbin would usually make fun of if he weren’t so compromised at the moment. He curls his fingers inside one more time before dragging them out, the rim of his ass clenching. Chan lines himself up and slides against him, lube coating the underside of his cock.

He flicks his tongue out once, wetting his lips before pushing in. He can tell Changbin swallows back a loud moan, which is a denial he’ll forgive only once. Watches the length of his cock disappear into him at a snail’s pace and holy shit, it’s phenomenal. He accepts him with so little resistance and adds the reward of whining out his name.

“Fuck, _Channie_.”

The pressure is so good, too good. It feels different from his other fucks. Like Changbin’s voice alone makes it all the more hotter, tighter, and straight-up maddening. “Is this okay?”

He thinks he hears Changbin mutter “yeah, just, kiss me,” and their lips join again, soft and sweet despite Chan being literally balls deep in him. He feels their pulses quicken and synchronize at every point of contact. Gets lost in the wet sounds of making out with pointless restraint. And when Changbin hums into his mouth, it’s from a deeper place in his chest. Chan starts pulling out to hear what sound he’ll make next.

He presses back in even slower. Changbin breaks their kiss to make the most desperate sound he’s ever heard out of him, begging for more movement. Chan loses composure and abandons his original intent to take things slow, because Changbin sounds incredible and he knows he can get more out of him. He has to.

“Fucking _Hell_, Binnie.”

Chan focuses all his agility on his hips, and fucking Changbin is a heavenly challenge. Like he’s finding the right frequency of his moans with each thrust. He feels the boy beneath him give in, become malleable, cross his heels at the small of his back.

Changbin’s brows are furrowed in pleasure. And his sounds, Jesus fuck. They hit Chan’s ears high and hot, encouraging him to pick up the pace. He reinforces the strength in his arms to hold himself up while he fucks Changbin, his stare heating up Changbin's skin even more.

“You sound so fucking good.” Through gritted teeth Chan conducts Changbin’s body. Places some rough sucks and kisses at whatever skin he can catch while fucking him faster than he can think.

He slows down to catch his breath and emphasize the power over speed of his thrusts now, Changbin matching him with less constant but now louder grunts, “Channie-hyung, _please_, right there.” And it soon devolves into wordless, mindless moaning, sounds that Chan swims in, drowns in. He curls his body over him and fucks uninhibited.

Chan pumps his hand around Changbin’s cock just a few times and makes him _loud._ His voice gets sharper and breaks as he yells Chan's name, coming hard. 

A more level-headed version of him would hope the egg cartons he’s stuck to his walls are doing an adequate job of sound-proofing, because Changbin reaches an unprecedented volume all on his own, at least it seems this way. But right now, Chan’s after another peak.

There’s a weakened stutter in his whimpering as Chan fucks him through a few more spurts of come, which cling to both their stomachs, and his legs shudder around Chan’s waist. Chan bites down on his shoulder, nostrils flaring, losing control of his own pace.

When Chan comes, Changbin’s fucked-out mind poeticizes it, maybe because he really has wanted this more than he thought. To him, the way Chan’s body spasms as he climaxes is not unlike an earthquake ripping through a mountain range, the peaks of his abdomen and chest rising and falling. The curls of his hair bounce like ravaged leaves clinging to their branches. Rumbling sounds from deep within him. Seismic writhing at a magnitude beyond measure. All sourced to the epicenter between his legs. It’s hard to look away and impossible to escape. From his mouth hurtles forth an avalanche of expletives. Here, “natural disaster” is a misnomer. Natural yes, but disaster? It’s anything but. Later, Changbin might write a song about it, and never let anyone hear it.

Then he’s whipped back to reality as a wave of satisfaction overcomes him, and he remembers this is the guy who made a secret track of him moaning, and that’s the reason they’re in this position now, in noisy silence. Chan heaving as he pulls out and removes his condom, pulling one last whine out of Changbin with it.

Funny how things work out. Like a joke that shouldn't land, but it does. They love and hate it.

Changbin expects to feel tired like he usually does after sex, but all he feels is content, and the inkling of desire for this kind of thing to continue. To be a recurrent thing. But maybe that conversation can wait. Just revel in the confirmation that their attraction is real, and there's sound evidence.

Chan ties off the rubber and tosses it into the tiny waste basket beside his bed. He, on the other hand, seems drained. Probably more from the anxiety preceding the deed, and the physical rigor of topping. “I thought you were gonna hate me for having that file. I shouldn't have made it, that was kind of creepy of me.”

“I mean, yeah it was. I would’ve kicked your ass if I wasn’t like, strangely into you." Changbin refuses to acknowledge that he did end up surrendering to Chan's ego.

They’re both leaning on the wall where Chan’s headboard would be if he had more than a boxspring and mattress. Chan’s arms around Changbin’s waist, his body feels good to hold.

He noses at Chan’s neck, asking into it, “You didn’t make one of those for Jisung, did you?”

Chan’s not sure if the question is sourced from jealousy, or a suspicion that Chan is just a huge indiscriminate horndog who will masturbate to sounds from just about any boy.

Regardless, he answers honestly. “No. His noises aren’t sexy. He always sounds scared of something.”

Changbin just snorts in agreement and they sit there, letting their heart rates level out at the same tempo. They breathe comfortably together, choosing to forget the weird ass circumstances that led them to this, choosing to ignore the looming question of “what happens after this?”

Chan settles for an innocent reminder to the both of them.

“Well, we still have some recording left to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing bedroom producer Chan? And also just bedroom Chan. Whoops! :) This could be better but it's my first time, please be gentle. Title is from [The White Stripes song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K4dx42YzQCE) I suddenly remembered at 3 AM and couldn’t shake


End file.
